


Curiosity Runnin' Wild

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Impala, Injured Dean, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reader-Insert, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, injured reader, interfering car, ships in the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: There’s that car! Youknowthat car.  You’ve met her all over the place. Her owner though, he’s a little more elusive…You can save each other, you just can’t seem to meet!.For @butiaintgonnaloveem’s Happy Big 50th Birthday celebration for Baby!!  I gotNo Particular Place to Go, by Chuck Berry.





	

Holy shit, that took off.  Run.  Run run run yes, clear shot.  Past the bodies, jump the gutter, jump the legs of- _wait!_  You skid, almost slide out flat, and pivot onto your toe to check that that… that’s a machete.  What vampire brings a machete to a fight?

There’s a guy under a body and he’s still got his head.  Keeping an eye on the old farm house, coz that’s going to go woof any minute now, you nudge his leg.  Floppy.  Fingers on his neck reveal a pulse, but slaps on the cheek get nothing.  Fuck it, he’s probably a hunter.

The top layer guy is heavy, and you drag him off, blood blubbing out the neck with every tug, and you stumble backwards with the awkward shape and weight.  The bluestone gravel is pokey under your ass, and as you scramble off the ground you notice a car, one you’ve not met before, in the distance. It’s old school, beautiful and arrogant, and you instantly decide the owner must be too.

A pat around his guy’s pockets finds a set of keys for an old car, making you pretty confident that it’s his.  One last slap of the cheek, just to give him a chance…. “Well, at least you’re pretty.”

Things start to pop and smash inside the house, orange light dancing behind quick melting curtains.  There’s a tarp half-over a nearby junkheap.  You drag it off, lay it beside the guy and check him for breaks and blood before rolling him onto the fabric, getting him onto his back.  Then you pick up the corners and go, running as hard as you can, pushing into your thighs, snaking between potholes and larger stones.   _Christ, he’s all muscle_ , you decide, _even in his thick-ass head._

The car feels much farther than you thought, and the house starts to crack and crash before you’re halfway there.  Finally, it’s blessedly unlocked but fuck.  How are you going to get this great dead-weight into the backseat?

You line him up with the backdoor, crawl through the other side and try to drag the tarp up over the seat, but he flops forward from the tilt.  “Fuck, shit, sorry,” you mutter, lunging forward to keep him from getting gravel rash on his  forehead.

You flop him back, barely catching his head before it clunks into the car.  Scrambling further, you zip up his leather jacket, and the smell of acrid vampire juice - “Oh _motherf_ \- I’d apologise about the blood but I’m calling that your fault.” Then get your arms under his, clasping your hands in front of his chest and pull him, hinging your foot on the car door frame, and Jesus fuck, _Jesus_ , he’s heavy.

“Oh, god!  Fuck!” His thigh pulls the door with him, so you go back, get out, run around, swing them sideways, and start again. “Fuck.  You fucker.”  Slowly you get him onto the back seat, inching him over with each jolt.  “Why, the fuck, d’you turn up, here! Ugh!” When his hips are on the seat, you give yourself a break, squished up against the far door, his head in your lap, breathing deep and about as helpful as a houseplant.

Arms and shoulders and gritted teeth, it’s everything you’ve got to get him sitting up without letting his neck snap or his body slide out the door again so you can get out from under him.  You lay his head back on the leather and take a better look at him in your hands.  He has full lips and… he’s actually really well proportioned.  One of those guys who’d be plain, a kind of pretty, handsome even if he knew what to do with it, you guess.  More wrangling and you get his knees up and his hips turned so they’ll keep and you can pull the door closed.  

His phone is locked and his wallet has three different IDs in it.  With a hefty sigh at your luck and some hope he’ll wake by the time you’re back in town, you climb over the seat, shift it forward, dig up the keys and try a few to fit.

You’ve never driven a car like this.  Your first was a few years younger, a clunky bomb you kept running for as long as possible, and these days you had one that you could fix up yourself, for the most part.  It definitely has power steering.  And this one definitely does not.  

But the rumble -  “Ooooh my goodness… hey gorgeous.” - it’s like molasses on a low boil, bubbling up through your seat.  Fucking _yes_.  You try the gas a little, measure the pedals with your boot, map out the edge of the body with your line of sight…  Everything feels easy, like she’s leading you along.

“Okay sweetheart,” you mutter and stroke the steering wheel.  “Let’s get your Daddy home.”

…

 _BZZ_ \- ”AH!!”   _BZZ-BZZ!!_  “Mother fucker!”   _BZZ-BZZ!!_

Dean squints and blinks, trying to figure out where he hell he is.  It’s cramped and dark and upsidedown, a crusty-dusty fabric cover over him.  It’s old enough to feel like cardboard.  “Uh! Fuck!  What?”  He has a stinging pressure on the back of his head, a sizeable lump he can feel with his fingers.  Flapping away the tarp and picking up the phone, he blinks long enough to see it’s Sam, and lays there until the earth swings back to rightness.  He’s in the footwell of the backseat.

“Yeah,” he grunts.

“You okay?” Sam demands.  “You’ve been gone too long.”

“I hit my head,” Dean breathes.  He grunts some more, pushing down on the carpet to try and get up.  He’s almost wedged in.  “I.  Ugh.  I got one and I hit my head.”

“Where are you?”

“I dunno, hang on.”  Dean presses the phone to his chest, then puts it on the seat and fights his own weight to sit up.  He’s in a carpark somewhere, judging from the grid of vehicles around.  Opening the door and using it to help stand tall, dancing stars decorate the overcast sky and blotches in his vision take some time to clear but he seems to be at the back of a supermarket carpark.  He leans back into the car to get the phone and finds a note.

“Hey, I got-” he opens it and turns it around.  “I got somethin’ here.”

“You need me to come find you?”

Groggy and pouting, Dean reads:

> _Hey superman, found you under the one you got, near the garage, and you were out cold.  Trusting this is your car, and if not I will deny everything when the owner comes to find you.  She’s a beauty.  Couldn’t find any clues on you but the tatt, so figured you’d be okay near food and water.  Take care, Y/N_

“There’s no number.”

“What’s that?” Sam is starting to lose patience.  “Do you need me to come get you or what?”

“No.  No, I’m okay,” Dean blinks, catching up.  “Someone found me, uuuh-a hunter… I guess.  A woman.” He flips over the note.  “She put me in the car and drove me back here.”  He looks up and peers at the road and shops, then spot a county logo on a street sign. “I’m on the other side of town.”

“Oh,” Sam sighs in relief. “Okay, that’s good.”

“I’ll be back in about 30.  I need some food.”

“Hey, you say she drove your car?” Sam says.  “You didn’t meet her?”

“Nope, just a note.”  Then Dean’s startled to attention.  He begins striding around the car, leaning over to see the paintwork, check the light covers, and he thinks he’s staved off the hyperventilation but when he stands on the dirt beyond the curb, surveying Baby’s apparent soundness all at once, his brain puts together a fact that makes his skin run cold and nausea lick his throat.  “Oh.  Oh, Sammy-”

“What!  What is it?”

“Oh, Holy.  Oh mother.  Oh-fuck!”

“Dean!   _What is it?!”_

“Oh! She parallel parked her, Sam.”  Dean puts his hands on his knees to hold back a full panic attack.  “She fucking parallel parked my Baby.”

…

“Can I help you?”

A tall man approaches, wondering why you’re looking into the back of his ‘67 Chevy Impala.  His hair bounces by his ears, chestnut and thoroughly complimentary to his fine eyes and dimpled smile. He doesn’t seem upset.

“I was just admiring your car,” you say.  It takes you a minute, because you were so sure that this was the car you drove, and that the owner would be someone different.  “She’s beautiful. Looks loved.”

The guy smirks a little, a genuine, friendly smirk that breaks into the beginning of reflective words as he looks over her too.  “Yeah. Uh, yeah.  She is.”  He nods and smiles.  “She’s definitely one of the family.  Do you, uh, go in for vintage cars?”

“Not especially,” you shrug.  It’s probably for the best that he isn’t who you expected, because you don’t actually have time to stay.  Coroner’s office closes in 40, just enough time to collect the belongings and burn away the curse. “Just reminded me of someone.”

He rolls his eyes and shrugs his chin knowingly.  “I see.”  He shifts his weight and chews his lower lip like he should’ve known better.  “Maybe we’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. See ya.”  You smile and back away, wishing you remembered more details about that day - what, 6 weeks ago now -so you could be sure.  

He watches you get into your car and leave before Dean comes out of the store and bumps his shoulder to snap him out of it.  “What’re you dreaming about Rapunzel?”

Sam scowls at Dean’s general annoyingness.  “Think I just met one of your past conquests.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean perks up, swings himself in a circle to glance around at the locals.  “What’d she say?”

“She’s gone,” Sam says flatly, “and she said she liked _your car._ ”

“Huh, well, yeah,” he smirks confidently.  “Plenty o’ladies got a reason to thank my Baby.”

Dean gets in behind the wheel and Sam walks around to his door, looking at the horizon like the audience can feel his pain.  

“She didn’t say anything about me?” Dean checks again, starting the motor.

“Nope, just the car.  Actually, I forgot to mention it’s yours.  I just assumed…”  Sam frowns at the realisation, but it’s all passed now anyway. “Come on, coroner’s closing soon.”

“Nah, we got ages,” Dean scoffs.  “Let’s get drive-thru first.”

…

The yelling drifts in and out of your ears like water.  It’s there, sounds like the tide is turning on the fight, but all you can really hear is your breath, high and shaky, and the aching surprise when you put your hand over your cut and feel wetness flush over your knuckles. _It’s not staying in!_  Fabric and palms pat down with shuddering accuracy, weak pressure and vague prayers, it’s not staying in.  You lay back, feeling like you’re head’s downhill, and try to relax, look blankly at the rafters and decide the noise can do what it wants…  this is coming… slippery hands, quivering ends, and cold concrete against your scalp.  You did okay.  You’ve done good, for a good while.  This was always coming.  It’s okay.

The footsteps don’t affect you, but the “SAM!  IN HERE!” you do hear, without time to react before a face is over yours, a palm on your cheek and another over your wound.  “Hey sweetheart, hey look at you!” he says.  He tilts to see you straight and you recognize something about him.  His mouth, you think, maybe his hair.  “Surrounded by a sea of corpses.  You’re one of those assassins huh? Uh fuck- _SAM!  Start the car!”_ The pressure on your gut goes down like your hand was only paper.  Arms slide under your shoulders and knees and gravity hands you over.  “We’re gonna get you to a hospital darlin’, get you patched up.  You know your blood type?”

“A… A pah-”

“Got it,” he says.  “We gotcha, okay?”  

Your body jolts as he runs and you close your eyes, thinking maybe playing dead will trick the reaper.  

“Sam, you good?’ A deep voice you can’t retain is nearby, and you just concentrate on the details - his sweat, the laundry smell of his collar, the skin and stubble of his neck slipping against your clammy forehead, and how wonderfully nice some people turn out to be.

He shuffles you into the back of a car and gets pressure back on the gash, making you gasp and groan with nauseating pain.

The engine growls alive, sounds angry for you, and a memory tickles your neck, your wrists, your thighs.

“I know you,” you say to the guy.

He puts a palm over your forehead, and swallows away the fear of watching you die.  “Naw, I’d remember your face, sweetheart.  We’ve never met before.”

 _Maybe we haven’t,_ you think.  It’s hard to tell looking up at him from this angle.

“Maybe you’ve seen me around though,” he says, adding, “Wanted man,” by way of explanation.

“No.”

His jaw clenches and he watches you, glancing up to see the road signs go by.  “How long Sammy?”

“Five minutes.”

“Good.”

Sweet fingertips through your bloodied hair make your eyes slip shut- “No, hey, up here.  Tell me your name sweetheart.  What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you rasp and open your eyes as he asked.  “Don’t feel bad,” you whisper, “if it doesn’t work out.”

“See, that’s how I know you’re a hunter too,” he says, forcing a smile.  

The fluorescent brightness beams into the car, swinging around as Sam turns into the emergency entrance.  The car goes quiet when he leaves; just the effort and shuffle to move you a bit, then the door opens and flushes of cold wind and sharp distant voices spill over you, hands helping your head up, which is nice, floating heavy, and the firm flatness of a gurney rises up to your body.

“She’s A-positive,” he says, “that’s the only cut-”

“Dean, we gotta go,” Sam’s voice is private, but stern enough to be loud.  “She’ll be okay here.  We gotta go.”

“Her name’s Y/N,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze before leaning over, dragging his thumb over your brow.  “You got’em, okay?  It’s all good.  You’re safe.”  He looks into your eyes to make sure you understand, so that you know you can rest, and the business of life-saving pushes him away.  You hold his fingers, letting his grip jerk out of yours as they whisk you off to the OR.

…

 _Oh I am such a shit,_ you think.  Extreme exercise always brings out moments of clarity.  You’re running harder than you have in a year, at least, and there’s nothing in the past 3 months that has prepared you for this.  You did some fighting, sure, but cardio was always last on your list.  Well, the end of the list is here.

It used to be that, right about now, you’d push through this Fuck I’m Dying stage and come out exhilarated and bouncing, but no.  You’re struggling - lungs dry like winter twigs, tongue aching, thighs about to be absorbed into your body, and your heels are bruised to hell.  You’re unfit.  So Fuck.  You are probably dying.

“I can smell you!” He doesn’t sound tired.

Visiting vampires.  Who accounts for that?  No one.  Not you.  Not the guy tailing them either.  It was just a splattering shit show of surprise and scrambling, running out the back and down the street.  A straight street too, undeveloped vacant lots, fucking bendless and uncrossed for 148 miles, apparently.

And now there’s traffic.  A botched hunt plus witnesses. Brilliant.

The headlights suck your shadow down to your feet, make you feel like you’re slowing down, and a meaty thud and smack makes you turn, almost stumbling when your rusty rhythm is interrupted.

A black shining car pulls up next to you and you hear _Get in!_ yelled through the glass.  You duck to look, see a machete on the seat, and open the door.  Snatching the handle you skid to a stop and pivot back as fast as you can before you lose all momentum, swiping at the neck of the gurgling vampire left on the road.

Then another set of headlights stare at you - _your_ headlights you suspect. They make the bitumen gleam, and you double back, getting in, puffing “Go!” and watch the lights get bigger and bigger, then smaller as they stop for the body you left behind.

“Fuck!” Your swallow scratches and you rest your forehead on your knuckles as they lean on the dash. “Oh fuck! Outta shape!”

“Hey you got further than I woulda,” says the driver.

“Yeh!…. Thanks!”  You tip back, slump into the seat and breathe, wait for the shaking to ease off.

“Hey!” he says.  Not Hey what are you doing, but Hey! Hi!

You turn your head and try to recognise him in the glow of the dash, since you’re well beyond any street lights.  As you push yourself up he says “Y/N! You’re okay!”

When did he get your name? “Um, yeah, thanks,” you nod.  “I didn’t get hurt.  I just got the four in the house, and then these ones turned up-”

“Yeah, I was on them, but you’re okay!” he blows off the story.  Then he turns to you better and you get a clear look at him.

“How-? Oh _hey!”_ You reach out towards him, pointing, waving your hand. It’s him!  “You’re okay!”

“What?” he laughs, starts driving with his window-side hand so he can gesture along with you.  “You were- Weren’t you hurt a while back?”

“Well, yeah, but- oshit!” Your brain puts the bits together and you see what he’s missing.  “Dude, you’re Superman!  Thank you!”

“Oh well,” he chuffs, “you’re not that heavy.  I mean, with the adrenaline-”

“No you muppet, the first- back in um-” you wave your hand up and down, trying to remember the month even. “That farmhouse between- you got knocked down, by the garage-”

“That was _you?!”_ You’re practically yelling at each other now.  “Holy crap, you know I got there and saw flames in the house, and they ran right into me.  You got out okay?”

“Dude those flames were mine!” you exclaim.  “I dragged you to your car on that tarp!”

“Son of a bitch.”  Of all the luck and fortune.  “Wow!  Thanks!  Seriously, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  You smile a big, happy smile, leaning back against the seat.  It’s not often that people who understand what you do can give you a thanks that meets the job.  “You were okay in the carpark?”

“Oooooohyyyyyeah!” You see his excitement deflate a little.  “That was _great!”_

“What?”

“No it was great!” He nods and licks his lips, cranks his fists on the wheel.  “That was really great.”

“Was there something about the way I saved your ass from a burning vamp nest that was not great?”

He shakes his head once, a big frown of _Nah_ on his chin, but it’s only once because he starts thinking… preparing something… You roll you eyes a little and put on the seat belt, glance back at the road to check there’s no one there.

“I think we’re going to have to pick this up again when they resettle,” you say, start talking shop since he’s distracted.  “Just track my car an-”

“Did you uh,” he says, his pitch high and tight.  “Was the carpark full?” he squeaks, “When you parked the car?”

You look at him and swallow just to keep yourself from laughing.  “Yeah.  Yeah that was a busy day.”

“Hmmm,” he says, still quite high, twisting wrists and neck at the pain of the risk.

“Yeah, it was _bustling_ ,” you nod. “There were kids on scooters, shopping trolleys all askew…”

“Oh.   _Great_.”

You’re laying it on real thick and rich. “Took me three or four goes. I was lucky to get a park!”

He blows a tight breath out pursed lips and starts nodding like he can deal with this, deal with it just fine.

You watch him work on some internal mantra and smile quietly, give him half a minute or so before you let him down… “But she was easy though.  Showed me what to do from the get go.”

He looks over at you and even in the dim light he can see you smile and shake your head at him.  “Oh,” he whispers.  “You are _awful_.”

Now the car is lit by the dash and two big bright smiles, sparkling with cheekiness.

“Hey were you in Crawford at all? About 4 months ago?”  Moving on.  Nothing to see.

“Yeah,” he says, then drops his voice a half-octave.  “Yes.”

“Where’s the tall guy?”

“Hey I’m tall!”

“Yeah you are,” you laugh. “Fucking weigh a tonne!  But there was a _taller_ guy- I was sure I saw this car but-”

“Oh Yeah!” Dean grins.  “He mentioned you!  Sam.  My brother. He’s on another job.”

“And you’re Dean,” you point.

“And you’re Y/N,” he says.  He reaches his hand across and you take it, feel the dry heat, smooth palm, rough fingers, and a truck load of potential.  

“So where are you headed for?” you ask.

“Nowhere in particular.  I hadn’t-,” he glances at you across the seat.  “I hadn’t booked anywhere yet.  Was that your car back there?”

“Yeah I think the bastards stole it.” You look back again. “And all my stuff.”

“So you’re stuck with me then,” he smirks.

“Take me to a motel, Superman.”  You cross your arms and settle in, giving nothing away.  “I’ve still got my wallet.”

“Okeydokey, but I feel I should tell you: I’m Batman.”

…

“I swear to fuck,” he grits, nearly tugging the whole thing out of the seat and deflating when he lets go. “Never happened before.”

You look up from the buckle and he looks at you, close and awkward with one knee on the leather and you trapped in the seatbelt that won’t undo.

“Maybe just get us some food and drinks?” you suggest.  “We can eat in here.”

“That I can do,” he says, making to go.  “You keep working on that.”

Dean goes into the diner and you start again on the buckle.  Squeeze then pull; pull and squeeze.  Pullandsqueeze.  Squeeeeeze _listenfortheclick_ and pull!  Squeeze half way. Squeeze a quarter way.  Three quarters squeezed.  SQUEEZE!  Jiggle-jiggle-jiggle.  Maybe if you slide the squeeze around the different corners of the button while you pull… ugh.

…Oh hey, I’ll just unbuckle my belt and-

 _Dammit_.

**SQUEEZE THE FUCKING SHIT OUTTA-**

“Hey you okay with meat? I forgot to ask.”  Dean’s talking to you through the window.

“Yep!” you clear your throat and adjust yourself.  Not that you were doing anything wrong.  “Good with anything.”

He knocks a knuckle on the glass and you watch him go back inside.

 _Push_ and squeeze…

…

“You can jusht rooshen the shtrap you know.”  He’s mumbling around his food, which would be a bit off putting if you weren’t too.

“I ngow.” You clear your cheeks.  “I know but you’re still going to have to fix it.  Can you replace these?”

“If I can find one,” he frowns at it, the traitorous thing.  So unlike Baby.

“Is there a drive-in nearby?”

Dean frowns thoughtfully and wonders, pulls out his phone to check…  “Two hours away.”

“Huh.”

“Tell ya what. Let’s go get a coupla rooms, this is the last place for miles anyway, and I’ll rescue you from my car.”

“Sounds good, Batman.”

Dean wraps up his food and pulls the car onto the road. “So what was that junker you abandoned just before I picked up your speedy ass?…”

…

“OK, just to reiterate, I had _no_ idea a writer’s workshop was in town.   _None_.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him.  “There’s one vacancy, at least.  We’re fine.”

“Okay.”  Dean hauls ass down to the reception, lest you miss out on what may be the last few rooms left out of four motels and one hotel in this town.  One of them had flicked to No Vacancy just as Dean had started indicating for the drive way; the last one hadn’t even changed the sign yet.  Suppose all that picturesque scenery you passed is inspiring or something.

It’s been so easy it is to be in Dean’s company.  You’ve thought of that near-death night so many times since it happened.  And before that it was the saving you did, unsexy though it was.  Memories of weight and warmth, cupping his vulnerable head and arranging his floppy hands.  Contact that’s so intimate and lucky-

Shit, you should be getting out of the belt.  It’s going to look stupid, you realise, so you try to get it done before he’s back.  

You don’t try the buckle, but adjust the sash to it’s full length.  It’s awkward and you almost bald yourself getting the chest strap over your head but you do it.  Then it’s a matter of pulling the waist portion slack enough to pop it over- no that’s not going to work.  You’ll have to crawl out of it.  With your hand on the back of the seat and one on the door, you try to lift yourself so that you can scramble up, but you can’t bend your legs the right way.  Maybe if you tuck them- or turn yourself to face the ba- Fuckherehecomes.

Deans gets behind the wheel again just as you drop down, brushing your hair neat and looking so very casual.  “They have one room,” he reports seriously. “It’s a king.”

“Of course.”

“I booked it but I don’t mind sleeping in the car, or on the floor.”

“No it’s a king!” King beds have always seemed like an acreage to you.  “Sure we’ll fit.”

“Yeah?” he checks.

“Sure!” You smile and he smiles back in a way that makes your belly hot.  Without thinking you undo your seatbelt and the damned thing opens without a lick of resistance, and you whisper, “Son of a bitch.”

Dean smirks, bites down on his dimples.  “I’ll get my stuff,” he says, then climbs out of the car and taps the roof twice.  “That’s my baby.”  There may have been a kissing sound.

With a blush hot enough to fry an egg, you start shortening the sash back to its usual length, running out of time before Dean’s opened the door for you.  

“Oh like that is it?” you say cheekily.

“Yeah I’m not an idiot,” he says brightly, and you laugh as his openness.

“Next I’ll be tellin’ you my last name.”

“Pff, slow down lady,” he scoffs.  “It’s only sharing a bed!” Scoff scoff! “We’ve only, like, saved each other’s lives.”

“Sorry,” you frown as he unlocks the room door, and make yourself sensible.  “That was a little forward of me.”

“Oh hey.”  Dean throws his things on the bed.  “Clothes.  Um. I have a spare shirt and shorts for bed I think, not much more.”

“That would be perfect,” you say and take a deep breath.

“Arright.” He quickly pulls them out for you - a faded old Metallica t-shirt and brown-tartan boxers.  He squishes a cheek at the unfortunate pickings, but you think it’s pretty fantastic.

The shower is everything you’ve ever needed and you’re warmed to the core by the time you get out.  While Dean showers you get yourself under the covers and look at your blessedly pocket-sized phone that is also - praise be - the same as Dean’s, so you can charge it.

When Dean does emerge it’s with a big, happy sigh.  He sees you on the bed with your legs under the covers, leaning against the headboard, then glances around the room a bit before deciding that he should be over there too because, secretly, he’s afraid of cracking a boner under one layer of cotton.  He didn’t jack off in the shower, as much as he wanted to, because he thought you’d hear, but he’s had a lovely shower now and he’s going to sleep next to a lovely woman, and he’s absolutely loaded.

He climbs in, quiet and polite, and looks at the distance between you while you sit.

“Thank you for the save, the first time,” you say, putting away your phone.

“Oh hey, don’t mention it!” Dean says, glancing at you.  “I mean, thanks for hauling my ass outta the sticks, but yeah, that time you got what, four? Five of them?  You earned it!”

You smile at the compliment.  “Hope I didn’t stain the leather too much.”

“We don’t count the blood,” he assures you.  “Just good to know you came through okay.  We were worried for a moment there.”

You slide down and tuck yourself in, laying on your side to face him. He does the same, smiling a bit too as you both settle into your conveniently inconvenient situation and pretend you don’t want to take advantage of that at all.

Seconds pass though, many seconds, enough that you think he may very well politely turn off the light and actually go to sleep.

“Hmmm, it’s a pity,” you say sadly.

“What’s that?”

“I was hoping you’d kiss me,” you tell him. “Seem’s a whole other level of intimate now.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods thoughtfully, like _Gosh, that’s true_.  

You’re such a sure thing.  Happy in your eyes and holding still for him already, and the only thing he’s really second guessing is the way he’s going to do this, not the whether.

Dean puts a hand down between you so he can lean up a bit and move over, come up on his elbow and over you, and you roll back as you watch, making it easy.  It’s no rush.  He leans down too, puts his lips to yours and presses, smiling when he feels you pout for him, a proper kiss placed upon his lips, making it easy.  He kisses back, licks your lip a little and smells you, listens to the electric crispness that sounds have when you’re this close.  It’s a pretty wonderful kiss.

Just as you’re about to reach up for his face, he pulls away, tucks a lip between his teeth while he looks at yours and sighs low and thoughtful.

It’s a curious sound and you raise an eyebrow in question, holding your breath when you see him smile, shiny cheeked and cheeky.  He has an idea.  “Well.  G’night!” Dean grins at you, flops himself over, flicks off the lamp and makes to go to sleep.

“Holy shit!” you whisper.  “ _Dean!_ ” You half sit up.  

He’s gone still, holding his breath,  doesn’t even respond to your words. “Your car is gonna kick your ass if you don’t kiss me again!”

He hiccups one laugh, holding in the rest.  “Well I got till mornin’ then, right?”

“Oohhhhhh,” you hush, loud and long.  “You’re _awful_.”

You lay down, watching his shoulders bounce as you flick off your light, dumping you both into darkness, and settle yourself in to not sleep.

But you do.  You’re exhausted from the running and the hunt that twisted into almost wrong.  You’ve got to search out your car tomorrow, and hopefully find the last of those vampires, probably starting with nothing but your own number plate, which could put you back on the radar, and then maybe the…

…

It’s pitch black, but you can feel a hand around yours, the palm to the back of your knuckles, warm and big.  You’ve rolled onto your belly and you can hear the sweet sound of Dean’s deep breathing beside you.  It’s dark enough that you don’t even know if you’ve opened your eyes.  He sounds much closer than you expected, but he’s dead to the world and it could’ve been only an hour or something…  You let yourself nod off again.

…

Something’s uncomfortable.  And heavy.  You try to twist but the weight of Dean’s arm pins you, his shoulder pretty much over yours as you lay on your back, his hand on your upper arm and although it’s like a quarter of him is all it takes to render you stuck, it’s his face that really keeps you from moving.

His nose is in your hair, breath so close and warm behind your ear it’s making you damp.  He’s the reason your head’s tilted left - he’s been nuzzling in.  It’s uncomfortable, and too hot, but he’s so asleep.  So very asleep.

You look at the moonlight shine off the glass of a hung print, the bathroom door handle, and run your mind over the lovely feeling of his hand on your arm.  You even manage to shift and turn your head, waiting for your eyes to adjust so you can see his neck, the edge of his ear, the rise of his shoulder…  

It’s lovely.

…

There’s a vague feeling of warmth shifting, pressure leaving your waist, and then the lightness of blankets replaced as the mattress shifts.  You hear Dean go to the bathroom and you doze while he does, tossing up between more sleep and starting something in your half-awake state.  Then you can’t decide _how_ to start something and already he’s back, but this time he doesn’t snuggle up, choosing instead to get comfortable facing away from you, which you’re fairly confident of because his butt bumps you gently, then moves away.

When his breathing has dropped heavy and noisy, you slip out and go to the bathroom too.

And when you return, you slide in behind him, your lower arm under the pillow, the other over his waist, and you shuck up tight, curve to curve, so that your nose is between his shoulder blades.  Little spoon spooning the big spoon - it’s ridiculous, but worth it.

You count to 10.  Spread your palm on his belly.

Count to 10 again.  Push it up to his chest.

Count to five.  Find his hand under his chin and slip yours beneath it, smiling when his fingers curve yours in, knuckles in his fist, and he takes a deep breath as he straightens.  You pull yourself up the bed, kiss him on the neck and whisper “Sun’s gonna be up soon.”

“Hoh shit.”  It’s a half grunt, lost in the sound of fabric as he rolls over, straight into you, pulling you to his kiss with a hand up your back and one on your cheek.  It’s fluent with the feeling of perfectly warm blankets, slept-in sheets, and absolutely no shit given about breath or hair or anything.  It’s all skin, all soft, and you let Dean hug you into him and push his morning hard on up the valley of your thighs.  “I like sleeping with you,” he sighs, his lungs not yet woken.

“You wanna not sleep with me?” you ask quietly.

“Damn.  You woke up horny.”  He blinks at you, still smooshed but quickly focusing.

“You’re a terrible tease for falling asleep on the job.”  You nuzzle his nose, drag your hand down his waist.

“I did not fall asleep on the job,” he insists and starts looking at you, over you, like he’s forming a plan.  “I was gathering energy-”

“Oh no!” you giggle.

“Yeah, I’m rested now.  Watch out.” He’s lazy as he starts to roll over you, sliding in between your legs and kissing you more, thoroughly, and starts to let his hands feel your body under the covers.

When he pushes his hands under your shirt, you do the same, pulling fabric up his back and leaning up so he can remove yours too.  You sigh and arch into him to feel his skin on yours, smiling brightly at him groaning at the feeling.

“This is awkward - we’re wearing the same shorts.” He mumbles it into your neck, running his palms up and down your body.  “You’re so smooth.”

“You wanna take ‘em off?”

“You really are very horny aren’t you?” he smirks, and you grab his head to kiss him, licking his lips, then his tongue, sucking on it so that he gasps (as best he can) and surge yourself against him to press the point home.

“It’s your fault Dean.”

“Yeah everything’s always my fault.”  Somehow he can grumble and smile at the same time.  “Lemme just-” He reaches for the nightstand, grinding against you, and you start pushing down the waistband of his boxers, over his terribly pert ass. He even manages to lift his hips to help.

Then he’s put the condom aside and kneeling between your legs, pulling off your shorts, quick and efficient, dragging his hands up the sides of your legs while he runs his gaze up and down your body - your hips, your hair, your breasts and then your face, making him smile and pop his eyebrows like you caught him  “Very nice,” he admits and shakes his head saying “I just- I feel very lucky.”

“Me too.”

“Just gotta check something,” he says and bows down, gathering the edge of the blankets and pulling them up to his shoulders as he nuzzles your chest.  You slides your thighs over his hips, kind of scissoring yourself off the bed and he reaches up to kiss you more, tufty hair adorably askew.  “Hold this,” he says, giving your the edge of the covers, and disappears under them with a wink.

Big hands slide under you, armpit hair on your legs, and it gets too warm quite quickly.  Dean drags his chin over your mound like he’s sliding down a dune and pushes his tongue into the pulled-tight seam of your pussy.  You groan and thrust up, clutching the fabric to your chin, and Dean pushes your legs flat, one under each shoulder, to say _Sit still_. “Gonna need that seatbelt again,” he mutters.

Gently and slowly he licks between the lips, all the way down to the dip sometimes, and after a while he relaxes his neck, rests himself there a bit and starts literally eating you out, like you’re a fruit of juice, all lips and tongue and catching the drips, groaning about the flavour.

You lose your grip on time, on the blankets, and let yourself get lost and cold while Dean lazily feasts on your flesh.  “Mmmm, this is amazing,” he muffles.

“What?” you sigh.

He lifts his head under the covers. “I said it’s amazing, you taste so good.”

“Seriously?” You lift the covers to talk to him under there.  “You really like this huh?”

“Breakfast of champions.”

“Ha-hahaha!’ You drop the blanket to your belly, seeing his head drop again before his tongue starts lapping at your clit.  “Get up here,” you say.

“Nup, not done yet.”  You feel the tip of a finger circle around your clit, firm and dragging, and take a deep breath for what might happen next.  Then there’s two, sliding down either side of your clit and turning for the core, sliding inside, long and sure, as his mouth starts a steady surging suck.  

Now you can’t stay quiet, arching your back and sigh loudly before realising that that long slow meal has got you buzzing more than you realised, turned everything on, and he’s found whatever it is inside your body with those two thick fingers and your voice climbs up the notes with each stroke “Oh! Shit! _Oh!_ Dean?! De- _eean?!_ HhhAA- _AAH!”_ coming tremulously and burning hot beneath him.

He squirrels his way up your body, popping out of the covers with pecks to your chest and neck while you recover, happy and smug.

Soft kisses, heavy, musky and wet, pass the time as he lays between your slack legs and waits till you’re fit for more.  “Just give me a minute,” you says, brushing your hands down his arms, “I wanna return the favour.”

“Next time,” he says. “Later.  I only got one favour in me and I want it in you.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you groan, and Dean’s bouncing against you, laughing at himself. You find the condom on the sheet and tear it open, saying “You’re going to owe me one if I have to deal with lines like that.”

Dean leans on a hand and an elbow while you roll it over his cock, his countenance becoming sweetly serious as you do.  You pull your legs up his and shift down a bit, watching him look again at you below him while you run your hands up and down his sides and tug a little on his hips.

“Honestly.”  He’s quite awake now.  “You should be getting a dinner first.  A really long movie, or something.  You’re really fucking good.”

“Hey, you saved my ass.”  You stroke your fingers down his temple, down to his neck.  “And I saved your ass too.  It’s a bit better than dinner.”

“I guess,” he sighs, and lays himself down over you.  “I’m going to think of it as our asses thanking each other.”

Straight away you’re reaching down and guiding him in, dragging him through the noisy slick and pulling on his hip when you have him just right.

He leans into it, watching you for anything, and you pull him down, kissing and sighing into the taut muscle between shoulder and neck.

Dean pushes against you, a little swivel, adjusts himself comfortable and sighs “Yeah… damn that’s good,” before kissing your jaw and behind your ear.  “Whaddya want sweetheart?  You got a way you like it?”

He’s thick and burning, pushing you open, and you slide your legs over him a few times before asking,  “Oh man, I dunno, this is good…” you sigh.  “Not sure I could improve on this.”

Instantly, his arm dives under your ribs, pulling your body into a curve that tilts you beautifully, and he bends himself to lick a nipple into his mouth.  With long drags and tight sucks, he works your nerves so well you’re pulling on his hair and writhing so hard you’re almost fucking yourself on him.  He answers it with groans and dumb thrusts, giving your other breast some attention before giving up, kissing you, and straightening up so he can push his cock into your body again.

“Uh! Fuck! Oh god-”

Dean drops down, his mouth to yours, and just goes, dragging his cock in and out, a pacey speed without pauses, his hips soon bouncing off you hard enough you climb your legs up and hook them behind him, and that seems to be the cue to fucking go for it.

It’s delicious, the drag on your pussy, his size and heat, and when you think it’s getting very good, you reach down to circle your clit, making your pussy pulse and Dean grunts at it, gasps a curse.  It’s a sound so sexy that it makes your mind step back, take a look at the man over you and the tilt of his head, the earnest thrusts, a picture so freaking hot it makes you rub harder, faster, gasping dirty words like a gift in return.  

“Fuck Dean!  Please! Don’t stop!  Oh God!”

He lowers his hips a little, tilts them hard and you cry out “Yy-oh _God!”_ as all the pleasure aligns and you feel your pussy ring and tremble.  Your nails dig into his shoulder and his moans shudder over your cheek, his body jolting against you, then really curling into it.  You cling and grab, your throat aching with the noises you make, and he groans too, kissing your neck so hard you can feel his tongue taste you.

Slowly, by fractions of an inch, Dean relaxes.  His legs shift, hairy thighs brushing against your ass, and you unfold your legs, letting them flop down to the bed.  The puffing slows and eventually Dean lifts his head.

“You look like you just woke up!” you laugh.

“I did!” he says, laughing too.  “What even is this stupid hour?” he grumbles and slaps a hand on the little table for his watch.  “Oh, Awesome-Fuck O’clock.  See? That’s why I’m up.”

“No, I woke you up.”

“Same thing” he says, starting to move away. “You have a snooze button?”

You stretch and squint and smile.  “Mmmmm-I _am_ a snooze button.”

Dean shakes his head and starts to clean himself up. “Damn, that is the cutest thing I ever heard.”

Less than a minute later, you’re redressed, tucked under his arm and watching dawn poke through the curtains.  “My turn to snuggle into you,” you mutter.

“You kidding me?” He frowns down at you. “Every time I woke up you were a human blanket.  One time you were like a possum on my arm!  Thought you were fucking my wrist.”

“What?!  You were on _me!_ It was like I wasn’t ever there - you were just _More bed!”_

“O-hokay, well, obviously we’re both craving human contact.  It’s just nice, right?” he says, hugging you close.  “Though I kinda liked having my wrist fucked.”

“Definitely the best part of my night,” you mumble and tuck away the feeling of Dean’s chuckle under your hand.  Your eyes close of their own accord and you get comfy again, welcoming the idea of sleep.  “Think your car’s going to let me go tomorrow?”

Dean’s breathing starts to slow down too, and he puts his hand on yours, tucks his fingers around it to keep.  “I hope not.”


End file.
